


with each step, a flower blooms

by Dearemma



Category: Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, actually like, in italics it's the original austen text, it would be set around the first few chapters?, set a little before the book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-26 00:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearemma/pseuds/Dearemma
Summary: Yes, George Knightley is familiar with this look, and one would think that after years he would become immune to it, and though he will probably lecture her when she finishes explaining it, there is no doubt in his or hers mind that he will help her complete it.Emma Woodhouse and George Knightley have some fun when their nephews and nieces come to visit and save themselves some heartache by discovering their feelings earlier.





	with each step, a flower blooms

**Author's Note:**

> A one shot I wrote like 2 years ago and never posted. it's fluffy and nice and i love these idiots so god damn much.

He knows that look -- shining blue eyes, flushed cheeks, lips that are in a mesmerizing cross between a smirk and a smile, at the same time mischievous and innocent. It’s the look that Emma Woodhouse gets whenever she forms a plan. Not a good plan, but one she is particularly excited about. 

Yes, George Knightley is familiar with this look, and one would think that after years he would become immune to it, and though he will probably lecture her when she finishes explaining it, there is no doubt in his or hers mind that he will help her complete it. 

\-- It’s surprisingly well thought of. Emma is proposing to take Isabella and John’s kids for the remaining two months of Isabella’s pregnancy. Her fifth pregnancy has been unusually tough and while Emma would much prefer to be in London tending to her every need, her duties to her father make it impossible for her to travel; the next best thing is to take her four children away for some time until the child is born. This is Emma -- her faults may be many, but there is no one in all of England who loves their family more than her. Also, he can’t help but notice, the children might make the now quiet Hartfield a more lively place, filling the empty spaces left behind by Mrs. Weston. Her logic is perfect and he is sure John will appreciate having more time to care for his wife, truly, it’s the plan is faultless, except --

“Your father won’t like the noise.” He remarks, disappointed to find a fault in her plan she must be very proud of (he is proud of her for it). But, no disappointment appears on her face,  _ no _ . Her lips finally make a choice and turn into a smirk. Leaning closer to him, she continues explaining her plan, that is indeed perfect. 

“Oh, I would never suggest that! No, Mr. Knightley. While my father loves his grandchildren, the noise they make will drive him mad within a day. I wouldn’t do that to him. Or the children.” Looking at him between her lashes, George suddenly finds himself powerless to her imploring gaze -- when had little Emma become a woman? When had she become able to mold him to her wishes? Oh, this was a disturbing development. “I was thinking they could stay at Donwell. There is a lot of space, and don’t give me that look! They won’t give you any trouble. I’ll be here most of the day and I can take the boys to Hartfield in small doses! Father will enjoy that!. You will only have to take care of them before they go to bed, and I know you love reading them bedtime stories! And of course their governess and maid will come with them, so you won’t need to attend to Bella and George! Besides, I am sure father won’t mind coming over to dinner a few nights here, you always take such good care of him and --”

“Enough! Enough.” Laughing, he stepped closer to her to grab her shoulders, “you are right, I love spending time with them.” it would be nice to have some kids running around Donwell once more, it had been more than two decades since any child roamed its halls and that was far too long. “Send a letter to Isabella, tell them they may send the kids early as possible.” 

“Perfect, they will be here in two days.” she announced standing up, a pleased smile on her lips. 

“You had already messaged her, hadn’t you?” he accused, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to look stern but failing miserably, just as he did when he tried to lecture her after finding out she had accidentally burned one of John’s wigs. It had been a comical sight but no matter how hard he tries to tap into the fury within him, her smile and mischievous twinkling eyes made him quite forget the lecture he had prepared.

She pretended not to hear him as she fluttered around the room, fluffing already fluffy pillows and re-arranging the flowers in the vases. It was a familiar sight, it was how Emma avoided having conversations that displeased her. It worked on her father for he would soon grow wary of having to follow around the room with his head and eyes, but it only amused the country gentleman. 

“I see.” he remarked standing up and grabbing his hat, “tell your father I was sorry to miss him but I suddenly found myself quite busy.” he must immediately inform his housekeeper so she can began preparing the house for the army of children and nurses that will descend upon Donwell. 

\----------------

  


The children were, as dear children are always perceived to be, very well behaved and clever. Donwell Abbey went from a silent house whose own master ran away from, to a lively place. The children played, Emma played the piano, lessons were taught sometimes and most days ended with George reading a bedtime story.

John had accompanied them to Highbury, holding a letter as thick as the bible filled with instructions for everyone. There were general instructions for everyone to follow, but each person in their little circle had specific duties to attend to. Even Mr. Weston was greeted with a list of rules. Isabella was like her father, she worried about every gust of wind and her children were the most precious things in her life. Everyone promised that they would follow the instructions, though most of them agreed (not Mr. Woodhouse, of course) that some of them were a bit too much.

Mr. Woodhouse missed his daughter’s presence in his home but was glad that his grandchildren were finally breathing good and healthy air. He hoped his horrible son-in-law would see how healthier and happier they became after a week in the country and relocate to a home in Highbury as soon as possible. 

Letters from Brunswick Square were filled to the brim with worries for the children and thanks yous to the siblings who were so diligently taking care of the children. Letters from Highbury were filled with entertaining tales and assurances that everything was going as planned. George was unable to spend as much time with the kids as he wished -- his tenants and other duties kept him occupied most of the day, but he made an effort, much to Mr. Larkins annoyance. 

One day, after having told Emma that he would only be back after sundown, he was able to quickly attend to his duties and the sight that greeted him when he got home made all of Larkin's complaints worth it -- there she was, breathless and smiling as she chased their nephews around the house, blonde tendrils of her hair that had been so carefully pinned down this morning, now framed her face in a most becoming way. 

George has never any inclination to marry, he was content with being a bachelor for the rest of his life and leaving his land to little Henry. John’s delightful children would be around him when he grew older and he could always count on the steady friendship he enjoyed with the Westons and the Woodhouses. But the sight made his heart squeeze, for he knew he wanted to see that more often -- if possible, everyday. Emma had always been dear to him, but in the past week it had become clearer to him how dear she was. Affection was turning into love and he wasn’t sure how he would deal with only seeing her at Hartfield once the children left. 

“I got you!” he exclaimed grabbing John by his waist, lifting him in the air, his shrieks of laughter reverberating through the house. Emma seemed to have her hands full with Henry, who was currently running in circles around her. “Let’s help your aunt, shall we?” grinning, he ran through the corridor and grabbed his other nephew with his free arm, lightly grunting at the extra weight but none of that showed as he smiled down victoriously at Emma.

“You win Mr. Knightley.” she said between pants, a sweet smile on her lips. 

  


\------------

  


Emma had determined when she was fourteen that she would never marry. There are a lot of reasons why she decided that -- most of the man in her acquaintance were tiresome, she had enough money to enjoy a good and respectful life and, most importantly of all, she had just seen her father’s heart break after her sister married. Now, she doesn’t blame Isabella for falling in love and being happy, Emma is delighted that her sister found someone to love. Besides, who would allow her as many freedoms as her father does? Yes, she would never marry and live with her father until the day he died. It would make both of them incredibly happy. 

It was easy for Emma to make such a decision because she was never exposed to a wider society, and seeing that her home is the most beautiful one in the region, she never longed to live anywhere else; that is, until she began spending her days at Donwell. 

There isn’t a particular beauty that makes the place enticing, no, it’s the adventures she has inside. Being able to spend the day with her nephews is more wonderful than she could ever have imagined, until now she was only able to spend a few weeks here and there with them, and she had to share them with their parents. Now? She is the first in their attentions and whatever worry or ails them is brought directly to her. But that’s not all, no. As much as she loves her nephews, there is something else that has made Donwell so dear to her in the past week.

It was the way her favorite tea magically showed up after the first day because George noticed she didn’t drink a lot that day; it was the way he cocked his head to the side when she was speaking, giving her whole undivided attention; how he never faltered when her father made a ridiculous request. 

George Knightley was a gentleman, everyone in the region knew it. He was an example of how a man should behave. He was handsome, kind and unwaveringly kind. He was also her family’s dearest friend and someone that she loved dearly but somehow never looked at so closely. He was Mr. Knightley, always was. When did he become  _ her  _ Mr. Knightley?

“You win Mr. Knightley.” she said smiling, brushing her nephew’s tousled hair. “Which means, you win the prize.”

“There is a prize?” the children began squirming in his arms so he let them go and they promptly started running towards the sitting room that had become  _ theirs  _ during this vacation. The adults followed behind in a more sedate pace. “What do I win?” a traitorous voice in his head reminded him that prizes were usually kisses.

“--Well, you get to choose the story you read tonight.” 

“Really? That’s all?” he asked, a bit disappointed.

“That’s all? Mr. Knightley! I am told your bedtime stories are some of the most exciting ones this side of Surrey! They were telling me how much they loved the one you told last night. I offered them cake! Cake! You know how Isabella is about cake! And they still preferred that the prize be your story.” If they were married she could listen to the stories with the children, they could snuggle under the covers around Emma and listen to George make voices and bring the story to life. Later they would -- No, they wouldn't do anything. For this weren’t their children and they weren’t married. Tonight while George told the kids a story, Emma would be at home taking care of her father and attending to his needs. 

“I had no idea I was that famous.” he said entering the drawing room with Emma, their perfect bubble of calmness being burst as Henry ran full force into Emma; she stumbled into his arms. Time slowed down, every brush between them was intensified, she gasped, he sighed.

Wrapping an arm protectively around her waist, he steadied them both, breathing in the sweet scent of her perfume, delighting in how wonderfully she fit into his arms. The skin beneath the dress burned hot, and the temptation to push her deeper into his arms and never let her go was overwhelming.

After he was sure she was steady on her feet once more, George stepped back. Emma, whose senses were still cataloguing the wave of feelings that crossed through her, turned around, her eyes searching for his. He couldn’t meet hers. He took a deep steadying breath and brushed past her to play with the children.

  


\----

  


Time continued passing this way, days filled with laughter and longing looks at the two friends tried to interpret their new feelings for each other. Nights began with a story and ended with fretting as both sides wondered how the other one was feeling. A friendship like theirs is precious and a romantic entanglement might not only ruin that, but also make the rest of the family uncomfortable. 

Two weeks after the children arrived, Henry began sniffling quietly. The first day Emma kept an eye out for him and told George about it when he got home. Nothing seemed to change that night, but when Emma arrived the morning after Henry had taken a turn for the worse. He was now feverish and complaining of pain everywhere. 

It pained George to leave Henry, but his duties kept him away all day. Every person who crossed paths with him that day noticed his unusual behaviour. Endless patience was replaced with a snappish behavior; instead of a polite smile, he grimaced.  Truth was, he wished to be at home with Henry. 

Emma didn’t stop running for one moment that day; between nursing Henry, calming the other children and sending her father notes, she barely had a moment to catch her breath. The sun was setting when she finally had everything under control, Henry was on the mend, the governess had the children under control and her father finally believed that they weren’t in danger from the plague.

Snuggling Henry, she decided to rest for a little while, but was determined not to sleep. But sleepless nights thinking about George and an active day meant that her eyes fluttered shut almost immediately. This how George found her, wrapped around their little nephew, blankets tucked in around her. Sighing, he leaned against the door and watched her for a while, chest expanding as he finally allowed himself to accept a truth that should have been obvious to him.

He was in love with Emma Woodhouse.

  


\-----------

  


The next morning Emma woke up with a start. Alone in a tiny bed, it took her a few moments to remember what happened last night. She and Henry had fallen asleep together, but Henry was no longer in bed and the sun was --  _ HER FATHER!  _

Jumping off bed, she quickly put on her shoes and started running. How could she have been so stupid? Her father must be worried sick for her. Who had taken care of him last night? Who had shared a cup of gruel with him? Someone should have woken her up!

Emma, who was so concentrated in berating herself in her thoughts, didn’t look at where she was heading and crashed into Mr. Knightley who was coming home. 

“Emma!” gathering her in his arms, he peered down at her, worry etched into his expression. “Is everything all right? How is Henry?” 

“Henry! I had forgotten about him, I am the most wretched person alive! I didn’t even… Oh, Mr. Knightley! My father! I must go to him.” she exclaimed trying to push past him but he held her in place. 

“I told your father you had fallen asleep. He agreed with me that it’s not good to interrupt someone in their sleep. I was there last night and early this morning, just heading back from there in fact. He is fine, worried, but I am quite sure having something to worry about keeps him invigorated.” his words soothed Emma, she sagged into his arms, thankful for his thoughtfulness but stiffened a second later. Stepping away from him, she looked down, embarrassed at her lack of propriety. Speaking of propriety…

“My hair!” it had fallen during the night and now fell in gentle waves around her shoulders, a sight that George had dreamed of many times during the past two weeks but the reality was even more delightful than his imagination. 

“I’ll go find Henry. I am sure he is with his siblings somewhere. Put your hair up and go home. Your father will be happy to see you.” he longed to rest his hand on her arm, to tangle his fingers in her hair and draw her near, but he didn’t dare. 

“Thank you.” and she was gone.

\---

Her father was indeed happy to see her. He had a million questions about Henry’s health and before the hour was out, Emma had told him five times that Dr. Perry wasn’t needed and with her father watching her every move, she finished ended up eating a whole bowl of gruel. 

The children were supposed to come here today, but Emma soon receives a note from Mr. Knightley informing her that since Henry is still fighting off the cold, it would be best if he was kept away from Mr. Woodhouse. She tells her father there was a change of plans and that she will be at Donwell today. After a quarter hour more of questions, he allows her to go to her room, change her dress and leave. 

Mr. Knightley is gone once she arrives but she is given little time to think about him as the kids command her attention since she spent most of yesterday with Henry. They play games and once they tire Emma plays the piano for a few hours, silly songs that Mrs. Weston teached her when she was a child, accompanied by funny lyrics that have the children in stitches. The governess insists that she leave at five, claiming that Emma is beginning to look really tired and that she can keep the children company. It’s good advice, and Emma is dreadfully tired, but it pains her to leave without seeing Mr. Knightley once more. 

But her worries were unfounded -- she finds him in her house once she arrived, reading the paper to her father. Leaning against the door, she watches them for a moment, heart swelling at the obvious affection and respect he had for her father. Falling in love with him was as simple and natural as breathing, and though she knows nothing can come of it, she falls a little bit more in love with him that second. 

Knocking at the door, she is delighted at the eager way both of them invite her in. For the next half an hour, they have an afternoon like any other; more similar to the ones they used to share before the kids came along, but Emma senses a shift in the air, she notices more how George moves and speaks. It’s distracting and more than once her father has to repeatedly call her name. 

“I should go.” George declares standing up, immediately Emma stands and says she will walk him out. An unnecessary gesture considering how close the two families are, but she is not ready to be parted from him yet. Grabbing a shawl to appease her father, she walks with him through the garden, talking about the things the kids got up to today. 

When they part, he grabs her hand, her breath catches when she thinks he might kiss her hand but he simply holds it in his for a few extra seconds before parting. 

  


\-----

  


Mrs. Weston comes the next day and notes how comfortable Emma is in the house -- talking to the staff like it’s mistress, walking around without a doubt, looking as comfortable as she does in Hartfield.

The notion of a mistress of Donwell usually has Emma reminding people that Donwell is meant for her nephew and that Mr. Knightley doesn’t plan to marry, but this time it gives her pause for the notion is appealing to her now. Mistress of Donwell, wife of George Knightley, esquire. Yes, it sounds like something she would like. 

“The children look happy, don’t they?” she asks trying to change the subject, beaming at the children who are running around the garden under the watchful eye of their governess. Their shrieks could be heard from inside of the house where the two ladies were sharing a cup of tea. 

“Yes, the open space is good for them. I don’t know if they get to run around so much when they are in town.” Mrs. Weston pauses, a sky smile appearing on her lips. “I always knew you would be a good mother.”

“Oh, no. Isabella gave them good manners and instruction, I am just enjoying them for a little while.” she didn’t dare to think of children of her own, knowing full well what her father thought of childbirth.

“ _ Still,  _ I have hope that one day these won’t be the only children running around.” Mrs. Weston was of course thinking of her stepson Frank Churchill who had just sent her another beautiful and heartfelt letter. When she saw Emma blush, she thought they were thinking of the same gentleman. But Emma’s thoughts did not stray to Escombe where Frank was, no, they were much closer -- at the Donwell Abbey’s library where Mr. Knightley was diligently working with his steward. 

“I am quite alright with the role of doting aunt as for now. I get to enjoy the weeks every holiday and shower them with gifts every Christmas. Besides, this little trip was a success. I might make it a yearly thing, give my sister a few weeks of peace and quiet.” 

“And will Mr. Knightley allow it? You are using his home after all.” the former governess points out, knowing that it would be impossible to have the children at Hartfield.

“I don’t see why not. He enjoys their company as much as I do.”

Mr. Knightley was enjoying having the children over? Was he not? He always appeared in a good mood when he came home and the children told her several tales of the things they did after she went home. This nagging doubt followed her all day and before she left, Emma decided to talk to him about it. If he was unhappy she would try to have the kids spend more time at Hartfield and maybe she could convince the Westons to host them for the day. 

Knocking at the door, Emma entered the library and found him alone; William Larkins left a few hours ago after they finished deciding what to do with a family that was struggling. 

“Is everything all right, Emma?” He asked standing up, noticing how nervous she looked. “Did something happen? Is Henry unwell again?” already he was thinking of how fast he could get to Dr. Perry’s house on horseback.

“Oh! No! Everything is fine.” she quickly said to soothe his worries. Emma was struck again by how wonderful Mr. Knightley was, how perceptive he was of her feelings and moods. “I was just wondering,” it seemed silly now, Mrs. Weston’s words got to her at that moment but now…

“Wondering what?” he asked taking a step closer to her, as always, curious about what was going on in her head.  

“Are you unhappy?”

The question caught him by surprise, he can’t think of a moment in his life he was asked such a thing. “Unhappy? Emma, what are you asking?” 

“The children, the noise,  _ me.  _ We have taken over your house and you can’t be happy about that.” she said in a rush, looking at the floor instead of his ernest green eyes. 

George laughed, touched by her worry but also amused that she would ever think something like this. “I am very happy. Happier than I have been in years. The children are wonderful, our siblings have done an amazing job raising them. I love having them here, this empty big house has been filled with laughter once more and nothing makes me happier than that.”  _ and as for you my dear Emma, I wish you would never leave,  _ but he didn’t say that. Instead, he rested his hand on her arm and smiled warmly at her. “I was thinking, if Isabella and John agree of course, that we could make this an annual thing?”

Emma beamed and nodded ecstatically. This was everything she had wanted. And this time she didn’t even need to convince him, their thoughts were aligned. “I like the sound of that.” They stared at each other with smiles on their faces, unsure of what to say next but not suffocated with the need to fill the empty space with chatter, content to simply stare at each other. 

Eventually, though, one of their nephews entered the room looking for his aunt, a pretty flower on his hand.

“For you.” he said presenting the flower to her, his cheeks flushed bright red. Bending down, Emma pressed a kiss to his cheek and carefully grabbed the flower. “I thought it was pretty, just like you, Aunt Emma” 

“ _ Oh,  _ thank you. I have never seen a prettier flower in all my life!”  She would put it one of the many books she never read and press it until it dried. “Thank you Master John.” turning to George, she added, “I should be going now. You will keep my suiter well entertained, won’t you Mr. Knightley?”

“Suitor?” he asked with a smirk, head cocked slightly to the side, entertained at the little scene. 

“Why, yes. He gave me a flower, told me I was pretty… I don’t have a lot of experience with courting, but I do think this is a common scene.” in fact, she had no experience with courting. There were no gentleman in Highbury who were brave enough to approach Miss Woodhouse, Mr. Elton is tempted, but even he, with his fortune and good looks, knows how above him she is socially.

“Is that so?” He was not going to take courting advice from a child, he was not going to take courting advice from a child,  _ he was not _ \-- the flowers near Randalls were blooming this time of year, weren’t they? 

\----

  


He felt extremely foolish. Here he was, a master of his own estate, a magistrate, a respected man in the community, picking up flowers in a clumsy attempt to propose to Emma. It’s been a week since John presented her the flowers and it’s the only half decent plan he has been able to come up with. Flowers, the language of love. Or is poetry the language of love? Panicked, he begins turning around to go home and memorize a sonnet when Emma suddenly appears before him. 

“Mr. Knightley?” she asks once he fails to return her curtsy. It’s so unlike Mr. Knightley to be anything but perfectly polite.

“Emma…” letting go of the flowers, he cleared his throat before starting again.  _ My dearest Emma,” said he, “for dearest you will always be, whatever the event of this hour's conversation, my dearest, most beloved Emma—tell me at once. Say 'No,' if it is to be said.”—She could really say nothing.—“You are silent,” he cried, with great animation; “absolutely silent! at present I ask no more.” _

_ Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the most prominent feeling. _

_ “I cannot make speeches, Emma:” he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing.—“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am.—You hear nothing but truth from me.—I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it.—Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover.—But you understand me.—Yes, you see, you understand my feelings—and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.” _

_ She spoke then, on being so entreated.—What did she say?—Just what she ought, of course. A lady always does.—She said enough to shew there need not be despair—and to invite him to say more himself. He had despaired at one period; he had received such an injunction to caution and silence, as for the time crushed every hope;—she had begun by refusing to hear him.—The change had perhaps been somewhat sudden;—her proposal of taking another turn, her renewing the conversation which she had just put an end to, might be a little extraordinary!—She felt its inconsistency; but Mr. Knightley was so obliging as to put up with it, and seek no further explanation.  _

He stepped closer to her, his eyes asking permission that was easily granted but just before his lips touched hers, she spoke. “Are those flowers?” she asked glancing towards the crumpled flowers they were currently standing on top of.

“I --  _ Yes.  _ You said a flower is what a suitor gives a woman to show his interest in her.” he reminds her, a blush staining his cheeks. 

“Yes, I did. I also told you that the suitor must tell the woman she is pretty.” Emma was not merely pretty at this moment; her skin was flushed, her eyes shone, her lips were set in the most bewitching smile he had ever seen -- she was stunning. 

And that was George told her, before finally claiming the kiss he had been so desirous for. 


End file.
